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Now you can post a story by email
Want to write for the Dew, but get a wee bit intimidated with the post instructions? If you can send an email, now you can submit a story to the Dew.
- You must be registered at LikeTheDew.com
- Using the email address you registered with, send your post to: email@example.com
- Put the title of your post in the subject line (no quote marks or apostrophes allowed).
- Write or paste your story, complete with links, in the body of the email.
- Add photos or videos (for YouTube’s, just include the link URL) you wish included as email attachments.
- If you wish to use photo captions, list them after your story as imagename=’caption’
- Then add a list of keywords, separated by commas.
You’ll get a confirmation email that we received it. We’ll then check out the story for appropriateness, double check how it looks, and will contact you if we have any questions or feel it needs editing. That’s it. So please dew submit.
If you need even more reassurance, contact Lee@LikeTheDew.com
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I think of myself as a realist. A diehard realist. I believe I am truly a child of the Age of Reason. But can reason explain all things, unlock all mysteries? Don’t think so. My Uncle Lehman, for instance, my Aunt Mary Grace’s husband, could talk warts off. As I write this, I can see you shaking your skeptical head. Well, I didn’t believe it, either. Nor did Meredith, my first wife, who once was his “patient.” But he did it anyhow, and it couldn’t be called faith healing, for the subject’s disbelief was no deterrent to the cure. You ready for this? We go by their house one night in Read on →
Grandpa was a quiet and gentle man. Grandma did most of the talking. He was over six feet tall and she was a little over five feet, feisty and independent. They obviously had agreed that he would make the big decisions and she would make all the small ones. All of the decisions were small. I was four years old when my brother and I were sent to live with Grandma and Grandpa, whom I called Papa, during World War II. My father was away, not at war because he had failed the medical, working on the railroad tracks and bridges. Read on →
At age 5 I told anyone who asked, and lots who didn't, "I want to be a doctor in the daytime and a preacher at night." Likely that was connected to the two people outside my family whom I most admired, our doctor who lived in the big house on the corner of our block, and our preacher who lived in the big house on the corner of the next block over. The preacher and my dad were classmates at college and in the vacant lots behind our house and in front of his they planted a Victory Garden together -- Read on →
At eleven years-old, the most infuriating thing about trying to “apply yourself” is the universe doesn’t always cooperate. Take the situation which I'm smack in the middle of the evening of Tuesday, September 10, 1962. Blindsided by Sister Jean, Sixth Grade teacher at Our Lady of the Pines Catholic School with a very first day assignment to write 500 words all about “What I Learned This Summer,” I’m stumped. Fully…totally …and absolutely! I don't think I've written 500 words TOTAL since First Grade. And as if I don't have problems enough already, the &%$#& thing is due Friday! I can’t think of one thing I’ve learne Read on →